Ten for Dying

Chapter Twenty-three

Vast black wings beat around Felix, beating with the sound of a thunderous heart. Was he waking or slipping into unconsciousness? In his memory he saw a raven perched on a dry fountain.

“One raven stands for sorrow,” John explained. “It is a fortune-telling rhyme I heard from the farmers when I fought in Bretania. Two black-feathered birds signify joy, three a letter, four for a boy.”

But John was no longer in the city.

Five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret…

The rhyme chased itself through the pulsing darkness in Felix’s head. One for sorrow, two for joy…

Repeating itself maddeningly, it blotted out all coherent thought. Around and around it spun, like the sand beneath Felix’s back.

Five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told…

The wings beat in the darkness and Felix felt the wind of oblivion against his face.

Eternity. Eight was for eternity, nine for the devil.

And ten, what did ten black birds mean?

What did those dark specks soaring into the limitless blue dome of sky predict?

Did he see ten or nine ravens?

Felix realized he was awake, although groggy, and still alive, lying on his back, staring straight upwards. He remembered where he was. On the track at the Hippodrome.

He could feel his heart pounding. With each beat pain flared in his sides, reminding him of the beating he’d taken.

A shadow passed across his face, retreated, returned.

He dared to move his throbbing head slightly, and was relieved he could do so. Until he saw again the rope hanging from the sculpture of the giant serpents. The rope with the noose he had seen hours before.

Now it was taut with the weight of a dangling corpse.

A man whose face was nothing but a bloody piece of meat.

The corpse swung forward once more, until its shadow again reached Felix’s face, then it swung back as the enormous raven clinging to the gore spattered shoulder finally yanked the remaining eyeball free of its socket.

The carrion eater turned its glassy eyes toward Felix, then with a convulsive flap of its dark wings took to the air, leaving the hanged man to spin slowly, unseeing.

John’s voice rang out clearly in the deserted Hippodrome. “Ten for dying.”

Felix blinked away the last fog of oblivion.

Fully awake, he realized John could not be present. John was on the sea.

Yet the clarity of the words had been such they continued to reverberate in Felix’s head. Ten for dying?

No, Felix thought, as he managed to roll over and began to push himself to his knees.

No. Not yet.

***

Anastasia carefully washed Felix’s bruised and bloody face, grimacing as if it were she who was in pain.

“If you think this is bad you should have seen the other fellow,” Felix told her. A poor jest, since it immediately brought back the image of the hanged man’s shredded face.

Nevertheless, Anastasia chuckled. It sounded forced. “Fighting again! You would do well in Italy!”

Her long elegant fingers worked the silk cloth with the delicacy and precision he had come to expect from them. He felt a sharp stab of guilt at having drunk so much, betraying his promise to her.

There was also the fact that had he not been drinking he would never have been caught unawares. And even had he been ambushed, as a trained fighter he would have left more than one of those callow ruffians dead before the gang overpowered him.

Felix groaned. “I wish I was on the battlefield. Then I’d know who my enemies were.”

They sat, hips pressed together, on a bench in the shade of a fig tree in Felix’s garden. “Tell me again what happened. I waited all night for you. I was frightened.”

Felix related the events of the day before, leaving out the tavern visits. “It was dawn when I woke up next to the spina and there right in front of me was a man hanging from the noose I thought was waiting for me. For an instant I feared I had left my body and was looking at my own corpse.”

Anastasia shuddered. “Don’t say such things, Felix.” She squeezed her cloth out in the copper bowl of water at her feet. “Did you recognize the dead man?”

“No.” He refrained from explaining why. “Perhaps it was somebody else who had been asked about the missing relic and gave unsatisfactory answers. Possibly he was killed to frighten me.”

“That would be hard to do, you big bear!”

Felix gave her a bleak smile. It made his split lips sting. “They succeeded sufficiently in that I’d gladly hand that miserable rag over if I had it.”

“Which is what they’re counting on. If you don’t produce it on time, that will prove to their satisfaction that you don’t have it.”

“Or else they will think that’s what I hope they think. I’d be better off finding the damned relic than trying to guess what those thugs might be thinking. And even if I can even lay hands on it, what about after that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Consider. Justinian orders me to look into the theft, although it’s already under investigation by the urban watch. Why should the captain of the excubitors become involved? Perhaps the emperor’s counting on me failing or appearing to entangle myself with the perpetrators so…”

“So he has an excuse to eliminate you,” Anastasia completed his thought. “You don’t have to be afraid to speak the truth to me. You are a close friend of the former Lord Chamberlain. The emperor may want to be rid of you as well. These are delicate times. With Theodora gone, half the court is jostling for power.”

Did Anastasia assume Felix was in that half of the court, he wondered? Yet wasn’t he ambitious, if the truth were told? Wasn’t he hoping General Germanus would replace Belisarius? “If you want me to speak plainly, there’s also the matter of the murdered courier. Who will believe I didn’t kill him to get possession of the relic and then pretend he never had it?”

“Not the Blues who ambushed you. Bend your head down. You’re still bleeding.”

Obeying her command, he continued. “There are other possibilities. Whoever stole the relic from the courier and murdered him would be happy to pin both the murder and that theft on me. If they can’t, they certainly won’t wait around for me to find them and retrieve the shroud. Likewise, whoever originally stole it won’t care to be tracked down either. In fact, they might actually believe I have it, or know where it is.” He winced as Anastasia began to clean the deep cut on his forehead.

“That would be whoever is ordering Blues to terrify you into returning the relic? Anyone who orders Blues about is a brave man indeed.”

“Brave perhaps, but not as clever as he thinks.”

Anastasia straightened up from her task. The silk in her hand was stained crimson.

“He didn’t allow me to see him. Grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, staying behind me. And he tried to disguise his voice,” Felix went on. “But I recognized him all the same. It was Porphyrius.”

“The charioteer?”

“That’s right. You don’t sound shocked?”

“Everyone knows he’s fabulously wealthy, beyond what even the most famous charioteer of all ought to be. He seems to be involved in everything going on in the city. Why not this matter?”

“Yes. Racing for both the Blues and the Greens ingratiates you with everyone, and who doesn’t want to bask in the reflected glory of a famous charioteer?”

“And if to do so means throwing a business opportunity his way, legal or otherwise, what of it?”

“You are too astute for a woman, my dove. Sometimes you remind me of our late empress. I’ve spoken to Porphyrius a number of times and won a fair bit wagering on his races, but I never thought I’d meet him again lying on my face with a noose dangling nearby!”

Anastasia bit her lip and nervously kneaded the bloody cloth. “So the emperor might want you dead, and whoever stole the shroud surely wants you dead, as does whoever robbed the original thief or thieves?”

“No doubt someone else wants me dead too. I’m losing count.”

“But not hope,” she said firmly. It was not a question.

“No.”

Anastasia leaned back against the tree trunk beside the bench. “Why a fig tree?”

“For the shade, I imagine. I didn’t plant it.”

“Why do you suppose Jesus cursed the fig tree?”

“What?”

“Naughty bear.” She grabbed the chain around his neck and yanked it out from his garment, revealing a cross hanging from it. “When I gave you this, you promised you would read and study.”

“Well, I…I haven’t got to that part yet.”

“Did you ever suppose that Jesus cursed the fig tree because it is the sacred tree of the pagan god Mithra?”

“No,” Felix offered, truthfully. It made him uncomfortable when she started to talk about her religion. Was she serious about it, or merely serious about the political ramifications of not being a Christian at a Christian court? “What does this have to do with what we were discussing?”

She threw her cloth into the bowl and brushed stray hairs off her forehead, leaving a red streak. “It could be very important, Felix. Men have been known to save their skins, as well as their souls, by finding faith at the right time.” Her eyes shone feverishly and with the blood blazoned on her skin she looked as ferocious as a Pict.

“Yes, I understand.” Felix clumsily tucked the chain back into hiding.

“I don’t like the idea of Porphyrius being involved,” Anastasia said. “Why not write to the former Lord Chamberlain? He visited the Church of the Holy Apostles with you. Perhaps he has some advice. He’s had plenty of time to think the matter over aboard ship.”

“He’d be in Greece before-”

“Use the imperial post. A relay of riders would be able to overtake a merchant ship that’s trading locally. You know how they meander from port to port.”

Felix shook his head vehemently. “No, I can’t. I won’t involve John. He’s on his way to a new life. What if the emperor were to find out he had tried to help me?”

“There are more hiding places in Constantinople than there are stars in the sky, even if the relic is still in the city. Where will you start?”

“I’m not certain. If I can learn exactly who was trying to sell it and who wants to buy it, that might give me a path to follow.” He started to get up. Dizziness hit him. There was a roaring in his ears. He sat down heavily.

“You need rest,” Anastasia told him. “I’m acquainted with a woman who can make up a potion to help revive you. She also has protective amulets.”

Felix tried to push himself up but realized he was too weak. He had managed to stagger back from the Hippodrome but his panic had passed and the effects of the beating were beginning to make themselves felt. “I’m not superstitious enough to want an amulet,” he said, thinking of the Jingler, “but something to sooth the aches and pains would be useful. Hypatia, John’s servant, made such potions, I recall. Who are you thinking of?”

“Antonina, Belisarius’ wife.”

“You know Antonina? How?”

“Does it matter?”

Felix shook his head violently and when it throbbed he wished he hadn’t. “No, I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want to…impose on her.”

Anastasia looked at him curiously.

“People will gossip,” Felix stammered.

“Gossip? About what?”

“They don’t need anything to gossip about to gossip, do they?”

She stared at him then laughed. “Why, you nasty bear! You know Antonina too, don’t you? Where did you…meet her?”

“Don’t be foolish! I never, um, met her. Not the way you mean. Everyone knows General Belisarius-”

“A tryst! Where, I wonder? When? I shall have to ask her.”

“No, please, I mean, she wouldn’t remember anyway. I was a young idiot. Who are you to be questioning Antonina about such delicate matters anyway?”

Anastasia pulled her features into a parody of hurt feelings. Then leaned forward. Her breath scorched his neck. “I am devastated.”

“It meant nothing then and less now,” Felix mumbled.

“Prove it to me.”

She nibbled at his neck, then bit harder.

“You shouldn’t do that!”

“Mmmm. Why not? No one will notice another little wound.”